Trust Me
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Peter met Wade by sheer chance . . . The high-school student never thought much would come from it, until strange things began to happen. It was the little things at worse, until steadily they got worse and worse, and there was only one person to turn to . . . one person that could understand . . . but Wade held dark secrets of his own. (Complete)
1. Chapter 1

**Trust Me**

 **Prologue**

Peter didn't believe in coincidences.

He believed more in cause and effect; past experience taught him that nearly everything happened for a reason, and usually that reason was incredibly simple. It was why he always knew a science project was due when MJ just 'dropped by' without calling, just as how it was obvious that the ten dollars he found – right when he 'happened to need it' – was actually a gift 'accidentally' dropped by his aunt. Nothing happened without a reason, no matter how innocent or insidious that reason happened to be. That was why today was so strange.

Ben stood at the kitchen table with the fire alarm in pieces before him, as he stared at it almost in awe of its parts. He scratched at his grey hair and gave a sigh, before he took up the largest piece and moved it close to his eye, but – whatever was wrong with it – he likely couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Peter didn't let it slip, but his aunt already asked him to take a look at it. There was absolutely no reason why it seemed to ring out a shrill sound every hour on the hour, with the only solution having been to remove the battery _finally_ at four o'clock in the morning to shut it up, but it wouldn't stop Ben from trying.

"You should take a break," said May.

The older woman gave a weak smile. Peter glanced up to catch how she sent him an conspiratorial glance, as if to plead with him to find some new distraction for her husband, because they both knew Ben would spend the whole day looking to fix it. He already propped up an old textbook between the toast-rack and a saltcellar, whilst he rolled up his arms and stuck a screwdriver behind his ear that he seemed to forget lurked there. May fussed about finishing breakfast, whilst Peter smiled to himself and stole an apple from the table.

"I'm getting there," Ben replied.

"I bet you are, Uncle Ben," said Peter, as he took a bite. "You – you probably want to – er – want to – er – check the frequencies on the remotes on things. There might be some sort of interference, you know? Have you tried changing the battery?"

"He's tried everything," muttered May. "Why we can't just buy a new one –"

"We can't be wasting money like that," answered Ben.

Peter smiled as May rolled her eyes and Ben gave her a kiss. It was the kind of loving relationship he envisioned for himself one day, with a girl or guy sweet enough to trust fully, and he always enjoyed the way they bickered and teased one another. They redefined what it meant to be that 'old married couple'. The only problem was that the alarm kept waking them up throughout the night; Peter overslept his alarm . . . an alarm he still _swore_ never went off. There was no way he would be on time for school at this rate.

"Hey, can I catch a ride to school?"

"Can't, kiddo," muttered Ben. "Car's bust."

That was hard to swallow. He looked between Ben and May, in hopes that one of them would offer an alternative or say that was a joke, but May merely shrugged and went back to finishing the eggs, whilst Ben whistled a tune to himself. Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, whilst he gnawed at his lip and hopped from foot to foot, because the idea of skating to school was pretty unbearable. He would be later than ever, which meant Flash would make fun all the more and the teachers would give him detention and –

He sighed and zipped up his hooded top, until he walked across the kitchen to kick his skateboard upwards, and then took another bite of the apple before he threw it into the trash. May turned to give him a stern look, as she wiped her hands on her apron, but he simply gave a sheepish smile and lifted a hand into the air in mock surrender. There wasn't _time_ for a proper breakfast . . . not if he needed to skate to classes. May shook her head.

"Ben, you tell your nephew to eat right."

"Eat right, Peter," mumbled Ben, as he unscrewed the back plate. "Listen to your aunt, she knows what she's talking about. You don't get to be a man of my size without eating well, and no one cooks as well as our May here. Say, shouldn't you be at school?"

"I should, but my alarm didn't go off," said Peter. "I was banking on a ride."

"Well, you won't get one from me. Oil is all over the place."

"Fine, well, I'll skate it, I guess."

He grabbed his bag with a sigh from the floor, which he flung over his shoulder, and made to head towards the door. It would be a chore and a half to make his way across the city with so many books on his back, but there wasn't really any other choice, especially when Gwen would be less than impressed if he missed science. He was barely in the hall when he heard his uncle mumble distractedly with a wave of his hand:

"You do that."

Peter rolled his eyes with a smile, as he let his uncle work on his latest pet project. He made his way down the hall and opened the glass door, before he dropped his skateboard down the steps of the porch and hopped onto it with a jump, although he caught his aunt yelling at him not to slam glass doors or to be too late. The rain from above made it harder to find an upside to the day, especially as it soaked through his hood in a matter of seconds, and he worried about the steering of his board and potential accidents. The sound was atrocious, too, as he felt sure a storm was brewing in the distance. This was _not_ a good start to the morning.

It took him longer than he would have liked to get to school, by which time his clothes were clinging to his skin and his cheeks felt numb from the wind, and he couldn't help except to stutter and shake as the school gates ran into view. He gave a cheer under his breath, as he spun the corner and hoped to get inside where it was warm. The only problem was the person directly in his way. There was barely time to brake with his board, before they collided.

He fell painfully to the ground.

The board skidded away, whilst Peter rolled onto his front with a curse. He felt a horrible stinging sensation on his palms and knees, which forced him to look down and see that his jeans were shredded and his hands were bleeding, and he crawled to a standing position with a few more mental curses. He wiped his hands against his top and spun around, where he saw a guy stand with his booted foot on Peter's board. Peter drew in a harsh breath and stepped forward to grab his board back. The man flipped it up and pulled it back with him.

"That – that's mine," said Peter.

Peter made to snatch it back, but the man jumped back again. He felt awful that he bumped into someone, all because he was too distracted to pay attention, but – at the same time – he was _sure_ this man kicked the front of his board in purpose. The fall knocked his hood down, but this man stood perfectly before him without a single scratch. He stood there . . . hood up, cap on, hands gloved . . . impossible to see a shred of skin on him. Peter sighed.

"Sorry . . . about that," he said kindly. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, I'm fine, sweetums! Here, take it."

The other man shoved the board back at him a little too eagerly, enough that it made Peter wonder whether he was being passive-aggressive or sarcastic, but he was also _really_ built and pretty tall, which was rather intimidating. Peter didn't want to risk getting into a fight, not with a guy like that. It was far too dangerous, plus a black eye might just encourage Flash to get a few extra hits in later, as no one wanted to miss out on getting a few hits in. He took his board and hooked it up to his bag, whilst the guy just stood there with face hidden.

"You – er – work as a mechanic?"

Peter nodded to the grease stains on the other man's top. They were pretty big and stretched across the guy's sleeves, enough that it was pretty obvious he was a guy that worked with his hands, but – still unable to see his face – he couldn't bring himself to trust the other. It was obvious the other guy wasn't a student, although he kind of did look the same age as Peter, at least in terms of style and demeanour, but he looked much more of a rebel type.

"Nah," said the guy. "I do work with my hands, though."

"Right, well, I'm sorry for bumping into you."

"No problem! You're late for school, right?" The guy gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "I should have graduated last year, but I totally dropped out! Hey, my name's Wade. What's your name? I've seen you around loads! Funny how fate gave us a chance to meet, huh?"

"My – my name? I'm Peter . . . Peter Parker."

"Cool! Nice to meet you!"

Wade extended a hand. Peter took it and shook it, as he realised just how firm the other man's hold felt, and it was then he caught a real look at Wade's face. He looked in pretty bad shape; those were either burns or scars or a medical condition, but they looked incredibly painful and covered his entire face. It was difficult not to stare, but – when Wade lowered his head again with what looked like a blush – Peter looked down in shame and opened his mouth to apologise. The school bell cut him off before he could speak.

"Guess that's lunchtime," said Wade. "My treat? Least I could do for knocking you down!"

It seemed strange to be offered lunch by someone he only just met, especially when students usually ate in the cafeteria, but he figured that he should easily be able to sneak Wade inside, especially as they were probably only three years apart. He also wanted to apologise for staring at something that wasn't Wade's fault, plus . . . he forgot his lunch.

"Sure, I think it's Taco Tuesday in the cafeteria."

"Sweet," chirped Wade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

"Peter, you promised to clean this up."

Ben leaned against the doorframe. The poster of Einstein was at a strange angle behind him, so that it looked like the deceased scientist was trying to peek into Peter's room for a better look, as if even the dead were interested in how much trouble he could get into. It was almost enough to make him cringe; he loved his uncle dearly, but it was a little embarrassing to have the older man criticising his room when friends were around. He gave Ben a pleading look, but Ben only raised his white eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I embarrassing you?" Ben asked.

"N-no, Uncle Ben," said Peter. "It's just –"

"No, no, it's fine. I just find that you've forgotten the eggs your aunt asked you to get, but – like always – I suppose I can pick them up instead. You go ahead and neglect your room and chores; play with your friends, it's fine." He looked around the room's occupants. "You know he keeps candid pictures of you guys as his screensaver, right? It's adorable. There's this one shot of Wade there and he's really got his –"

"O-okay! You can go now! Sheesh! I get it!"

"I can go now? I've permission to leave?"

The look Ben gave him was one of total disbelief. He was cast in a strange kind of darkness, because the blinds to the room were broken, so both windows let in very little light into Peter's small room, but Ben didn't seem to mind in the least. It was probably unfair to try and shoo his uncle away, as if he didn't own the house or raise him right, but he could hear MJ giggling by the computer and saw her trying to hide her mouth in his peripheral vision. Wade, meanwhile, laughed behind her from the bed he laid down against.

Peter climbed up from the rug on the floor between them, as he tried to escort his uncle out of his bedroom, but Ben merely adjusted his glasses and leaned further inside. He turned his head to see that MJ found the photo of Wade in question, although his face was mostly hidden out of sight . . . Peter respected his desire for privacy too much to take a picture of the thing he felt most ashamed about. Still, he never meant for Wade to see it.

It was then that Ben waved a hand lazily in the air; the wafting gesture was done with the same force one would give the finger, but – luckily – he knew his uncle was mostly teasing and only the tiniest bit hurt. He would make it up to him later, maybe by fixing the pipes with him in the basement, but for now -? He _really_ wanted some time alone with his friends. MJ never really was allowed friends at her place, whilst Wade's apartment was a complete dump, so much so that even the cockroaches seemed to pack their bags and fly away.

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going," said Ben.

Peter stumbled over some books on the floor, as he nearly crashed into his uncle. Ben gave him an all-knowing smile and rolled his eyes kindly, as everything his nephew did was apparently a source of utmost amusement, and usually his teasing would have been taken in good humour, but he could _feel_ his friends laughing behind him. It was strange to feel like his friends were sharing in a joke with his uncle, but he was starting to feel awfully like he _was_ the joke, and he had enough of that at school. He didn't like being laughed at.

"Just remember, Peter," said Ben. "There are some things more important than what people think about you. You're a lot like your father in some respects; you really are, which is a good thing! He was a principled man, though. He believed that if you could do good things, you had a duty to do them. He used to say that with great power –"

"Comes great responsibility?" Peter teased.

"Hey, mock me all you like, but just remember: your aunt depended on you. It might be something as small as a few eggs, but you start neglected the little stuff -? Where does it end? You got to be dependable and put the welfare of others before yourself. It's not fair of your aunt to suffer, just because you want to goof around with your friends. I was young once, too, you know, but . . . well . . . anyway. I'll get going. Oh, right -! The house sold by the way!"

Ben lifted a hand to his head in mock salute, before he turned on his heels and left. It took only an instant for Peter to slam the door shut and slide down it in embarrassment, as he turned bright red and heard Wade let out a loud laugh, and MJ merely giggled behind her fist and gave him a sympathetic look. He only knew Wade for a month or so, which made it incredibly hard to judge his reactions, but he knew MJ long enough to know that she simply enjoyed the family bickering for what it was: an expression of affection.

She spun around in her chair and knocked the keyboard. It must have jolted the screen to a new folder, as – almost at once – a picture of Gwen popped up and the colour drained from Peter's face. The very last thing he wanted was for his friends to realise his crush, especially when Wade seemed the insecure sort and was also something of a crush, and yet he could almost envision the teasing by MJ, because it wasn't often that Peter expressed a romantic interest in another person. He practically ran over to the computer, as he turned the screen off and Gwen's face disappeared from sight. Wade muttered something under his breath.

"Didn't think you were into blondes," the older teenager said coldly.

"Forget that," said MJ with a wink. "I'm more interested in who's moving out!"

"Huh? Oh, just the old guy across the street," replied Peter. "He's had a run of bad luck. I – I heard that his dog died a month back, which was . . . weird. I remember complaining to Aunt May that it was keeping me up at night, next thing I know -? The poor thing accidentally got into some rat poison in the storage shed. Mr Gibson insists he doesn't keep rat poison, but he's losing his mind . . . I – I can't believe I even _joked_ about it, but . . ."

"These things happen, sweetums," said Wade. "I _totally_ remember one of our rabbits died as a kid, because some cat got to them! Well, they weren't _our_ rabbits, but the neighbour used to let me pet them sometimes! It was nasty having to clean cat entrails from the hutch, though. Pops said it'd build character, so I guess that's something, at least."

"That's . . . pretty disturbing. I – I kind of envy your ability to keep smiling sometimes, because it's just -! I feel like it's my fault the dog died . . . like I t-tempted fate or something, especially when everything seemed to get so much worse for the poor guy."

"How can it get any worse than that?" MJ asked.

Peter sat down on the floor in front of the bed. He looked up to see that MJ was trying her best to pay attention to him, but – with so many projects due next week – she was flicking through her camera in an attempt to find the file she needed to upload. The way her long hair fell about her face made her look rather pretty, especially as the flaming red colour complemented her skin well, and he wondered why she never considered modelling. He remembered Harry tried to convince her once, but she would have none of it.

He leaned back and realised that Wade was now sitting on the bed, rather than lying, and he kept a leg on either side of Peter, so that he felt almost hemmed in. It made him smile; one friend behind him, one friend in front of him, so that he felt supported and as if the world might just finally be on his side. Wade hunched over and placed his hands on Peter's shoulders, which he began to rub in a way that only he ever seemed able to achieve, and Peter almost wished that he could be the kind of guy that someone like Wade would want, because he seemed almost perfect in every way . . . funny, muscular, street-smart . . .

MJ gave him a half-smirk, as if she knew what he thought. He caught sight of her raising her camera upwards, but he nodded to her not to take a photo, because he knew that Wade . . . well . . . was pretty sensitive about his face. The end of the first day they met, Peter tried to take a photo of the two of them, but Wade freaked out to the extent that Peter was almost sure that their friendship was over before it began. The very last thing he wanted was to hurt the older teen, especially when life already seemed so cruel to him.

"So what happened to him?" MJ asked again.

"Senility, apparently," said Peter through Wade's massage. "It started off that he called the police, said someone was in his attic, but the police didn't find anything. W-well, they – they found a ton of fast-food wrappers, along with binoculars and stuff . . . he's an avid bird-watcher, or he was, s-so his kids recon he just got really confused. It got to a point where he started babbling about a man in red, so they've taken him to live with his daughter."

"Ouch, that sucks. I remember when we were kids; he would give us candy and tell us stories about his wife, I never thought he'd get to this point. You always think time will last forever as a kid. Do you know who's buying the house? Must be cool to get new neighbours."

"I don't know . . . lately it's just one thing after another. Gwen's been talking about going to college in England, which is _great_ , but we're still so young and I haven't even worked up the courage to ask her out! What if – by the time I'm able – she's already gone? I – I know it's a few years away, but I can't ask her out . . . can I?"

"Why not? She'd be lucky to have you, that's for sure."

"Maybe – maybe I can visit her at work?"

Wade dug into his shoulder a little too hard, but he apologised when Peter winced. The older teenager was usually so hyperactive and restless, so it was strange to see him almost relaxed and observant, and sometimes Peter wondered what darker side he hid beneath his façade. It made him interested in learning more about Wade a person, especially as he seemed so mysterious, but Wade was such a womaniser from what he saw . . . there was no way that he would want someone like him. It was then that Wade asked:

"Where's she work?"

He titled his head back to look up at Wade. The older teenager wore a smirk that made the scabs at the corner of his mouth crack, whilst his brown eyes glittered dangerously, and – for a moment – Peter wondered if Wade was looking for a date. It was that playfully sinister look when he had a plan of sorts, but usually his plans involved getting something he wanted . . . food, dates, or early nights . . . Peter sighed and gave a shrug.

"Oh, Oscorp," said Peter.

"I think it's an internship," added MJ. "Top student in our year."

"I keep saying she should let us do a field trip there . . . I can see why she wouldn't, n-not with kids like Flash in our year, but it'd be good. I'd kind of like to see the laboratories, especially as it seems like a good place to work. Hey, you should come with me. We can – we can go tomorrow after school. Unless – unless you have work? You said you get a lot of work sometimes, s-so I'm not trying to pressure you or anything, b-but it –"

"It sounds like fun, kiddo! Do you think they keep weapons and stuff in there? Oh – oh – oh, like teleporting devices and laser guns! I bet they have double agents like Agent McGuffin scouting around and looking for trouble! Radioactive monsters! Living suits of armour!"

"I-it's a research lab," teased Peter. "It's not a villain's secret lair."

"You guys go without me," said MJ. "I have a project to do."

"You always have a project to do," Wade complained.

"Hey, we can't all be lazy!"

The laughter of his friends made him feel better, but it sounded rather forced on Wade's part and there was a tension in the air that he couldn't quite decipher. He felt grateful to have such amazing friends, especially when life was tough and they were all he had in life, but sometimes he just wished he knew what went on inside their heads. Peter looked up at Wade with a nervous smile, as he tried not to worry about what his friend thought about him.

"Tomorrow, right?" Peter asked.

"Tomorrow," said Wade.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

' _We need to get out of here.'_

' _Aw, come on! You're acting like we're caught! I've been the best lookout ever; you've been in there for a while, though. I was starting to get worried that you'd drank some super-serum and melted into a pile of ooze or something! Hey – hey -! Stop pulling!'_

' _I mean it, Wade. We need to go_ now _. I – I'll explain later!_ Please _.'_

' _You don't have to beg, sweetums! Well, at least outside the –'_

' _Shoot! I think that's security! Let's move!'_

* * *

*/*/*/Line Break */*/*/

"Peter, are you . . . on drugs?"

Peter slammed the fridge door closed. It was hard to express his anger when he couldn't properly slam the door, but that was more the fault of the junk food that filled his arms. He couldn't help it; he just felt so damned _hungry_ , so that his stomach churned and growled all the time, and every bite just seemed to remind him of how much he needed. It was at the point where he would wake up hungry, going to sleep hungry . . . always hungry . . .

There was an itch on the back of his neck, where the damned spider bit, but he couldn't get it when his arms cradled most of the lower shelf of the fridge. He settled for leaning his head back and tried to rub it against his hood, but that only got a strange look from his aunt. The older woman dried her hands on the dishcloth. It was strange to see May looking so annoyed, especially as she bordered on outright angry, but she straddled the line between patience and impatience well, and settled for giving him a stern look as she stood by the sink.

"N-no," he snapped. "Why would you think that?"

"You've been binging a lot," she said firmly. "You've been moody, sleeping late, getting into trouble at school . . . I just don't know what's getting into you lately! If there's pressure at school, if someone is hurting you . . . you can turn to us, you know that, don't you?"

"It's nothing, Aunt May. I'm just hungry, that's all. Don't worry."

"Of course I worry, Peter! It's my job to worry."

Peter leaned back against the fridge, but one of the magnets dug into his skin and hurt just slightly, which only reminded him that – no matter what the mark – it would only heal in a few days anyway. He never did get to talk properly to Gwen, but he did get to explore and in that exploration . . . well . . . it just wasn't something he could _talk_ about to anyone. May stood there looking so fragile and pale, as if every secret he kept hurt her deeply, but there was no way that she could understand. He didn't even understand.

"There was that black eye the other day, too," said May.

He instinctively raised his hand to his face, but dropped a packet of chocolate chips in the process. Luckily, his quickened reflexes allowed him to kick his foot sideways, which sent the packet flying upwards and in the direction of his mouth, and he jerked his head forward and caught the packet in his teeth. The look May gave him was a mixture of awe and horror, which made him mutter 'workouts' lazily under his breath, as if anyone would believe he spent even a day of his life working out. He spat the packet back on top of the pile, as the room suddenly felt incredibly chilly. The hunger was starting to get unbearable.

"Is it steroids? Did a dealer hurt you?"

"Jeez, Aunt May!" Peter rolled his eyes. "You – you really think I'd -? Look, I'm just hungry, all right? Can I go to my room now? I promised Uncle Ben I'd stop breaking curfew, plus it's not as though my grades have dropped . . . what more do you want?"

"I want a nephew that trusts me to tell me what's happened," she said sadly.

"Nothing has happened! I'm going! Goodnight!"

He stormed out of the kitchen as quickly as he could manage. It was strange to not feel his socked feet slip against the floorboards, just as it was strange how his reflexes allowed him to catch any items as they fell, and he tried not to let the changes get to him. There was no way that May would understand; that bite changed him, but these new abilities were also proof that he broke into Gwen's work. He dreaded to think how much trouble he would be in for trespassing, although what if there were dangerous consequences to the bite?

' _Peter? Peter, we need to talk about –_ '

Peter ignored her. He felt guilty about it, but there was just so much going on lately. It was impossible to get his feelings straight, especially when he needed to understand this – this – this _mutation_ taking place! May stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at him sadly, whilst he stormed into his room and slammed the door shut. He dropped the contents of his arms onto the floor, and then turned around to fall back about the door to catch his breath. He thought about how to make it up to her, but jumped at the sight of someone in his room.

The sight of another person made him jump, which – unfortunately – had the effect that he landed just above the door with his feet on the walls. He felt his heart beat out of his chest, whilst his eyes narrowed and realised just who was waiting for him, and – grateful not to have let his secret be revealed to anyone else – he dropped back down and opened one of the chocolate bars. He threw one onto the bed by Wade, before he dove at the bed and crawled back against the wall, where Wade merely laughed and sat next to him. The older teenager began to share in the haul quite noisily. Peter gave a nervous smile.

"Wade? You – you scared me!"

Wade gave him a gentle punch to the arm, although it was probably harder than he intended. It was strange, but lately Peter felt stronger than he ever used to feel, which meant he was able to take blows that would have bruised or hurt him in the past. He wondered whether he could get Wade to show him some moves, maybe some self-defence, but he felt almost embarrassed to ask, especially when he knew his uncle would not wanting him to learn any kind of violence. Ben objected to their friendship enough as it was.

"Hey, what's with all the grub?" Wade asked.

"I – I've just been pretty hungry lately," said Peter. "The thing on the subway scared me pretty bad, as I didn't think my hands would start . . . _sticking_ to things. I – I couldn't even search my symptoms online, because the keys stuck to my fingers! I didn't expect you to break into my bedroom when I rang you, but I'm glad you did. I need someone to talk to about this, b-but . . . keep your voice down? Uncle Ben will flip, if he knows you're here."

"He's too protective of you, baby boy! When I was your age, I was out in bars and clubs and all sorts! Mom was dead, Dad got killed . . . it was real awful! My pops got totally unalived by a friend of mine, too, which way sucked! Well, it sucked for him . . . my point is that you're like the dream kid! Your uncle should count himself lucky!"

"I think he does, but . . . I – I don't know, Wade! I've been so angry lately, and I think he's noticed that I've been skipping out on chores and been a bit more moody. Do you think I should tell him? He might be angry I broke in to the research lab, but . . ."

"Hey, you think he'll get that you're a mutate? Superheroes have secret identities for a reason! Trust me, I've seen some of the big guys take the wrong path. You get losers like Logan being all sell-outs, while Fury's lot don't earn a penny for their work, and then there are – like – civil wars and stuff in some continuities. Why get messed up in that kind of drama? Oh! Oh! If you become a legit hero, you should be 'Spider-Man'!"

Peter laughed and watched as Wade grabbed up the best of the food, before he dropped it onto the bed between them and climbed back up. He loved Wade's quirky humour and strange mannerisms, especially the way that he didn't seem to take anything seriously, as – no matter how bad a situation felt – Wade was always able to make him feel better about himself. He was the best. Peter couldn't remember having a friend like that before, except . . . well . . . Skip . . . but Skip hurt him in ways that could never be taken back.

That was the thing, though: Wade would never hurt him. He had a violent streak, sure, but he never raised his hand to children or the elderly, just as he always _idolised_ Peter to the extent of always being there when he needed him, and he seemed to draw a line at sexual violence. It made Peter wonder whether Wade had been hurt in that way himself, but he never dared to ask. Wade was your typical 'thug', but he also had a heart of gold.

"I'm serious, Wade. Do you – do you think I'm a freak?"

Wade gave a long sigh and draped an arm around Peter's shoulders, as he pulled him in close and let the younger teenager rest his head upon his shoulder. It was quite a comfort, especially when Wade felt so strong and muscular against him, and he wished that his friend didn't have to sneak in to see him. He could understand his uncle being over-protective, as it was easy to draw a correlation where there was no causation, but he just _wished_ that Ben could see the warm part of Wade that he could see. Wade wasn't an entirely bad influence; there were moments – like these – when he was incredibly gentle.

"Nah," said Wade. "I'm the freak, look at me!"

"You – you said those were burns. That doesn't make you a freak."

"Well, I _may_ have tweaked the truth a bit on that one. Remind me to give you the long story one day! I can honestly say that I will _never_ leave you, Petey! It don't matter what you say, even if my brains get blown out, because I'll _always_ come back! Remember that!"

"So wanting to be my friend at all costs makes you a freak?"

Peter laughed as Wade pouted, before he found himself in a headlock. Wade ruffled his hair and tickled his sides, which caused Peter to call out a few times, and – in fear his aunt and uncle may hear him – he flipped them and pinned Wade to the mattress. There was a moment where he thought he saw something in those brown eyes, some deep obsession or desire, but he couldn't allow himself to see what obviously couldn't be there. He blushed, as he panted for breath an inch from Wade's lips, and sat up nervously.

"I ain't never had a friend like you before," said Wade.

"Y-yeah," replied Peter. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He realised that he was sitting astride Wade, so – with a feeling of mortification – jumped back and began to fidget with his hands, as he prayed that Wade didn't sense how nervous he felt and how embarrassing the situation was for him. The last thing he wanted was for Wade to feel awkward, just because Peter couldn't hide his affection properly. Luckily, the older teenager didn't seem to notice. He just reached out and gently pushed a lock of hair away from Peter's face with a smile.

"Nothing will keep us apart, Petey," said Wade. "You might be a mutate, but so are a lot of people! It ain't even a big deal these days. You get all these cool powers, but none of the consequences that some folks get. I'm actually kind of jealous of you."

"You – you'd be the only one. I don't know . . . maybe I ought to tell Uncle Ben."

"The guy that yells at you for forgetting eggs? What would he know?"

Peter gave a sigh and looked to the bedroom door. There was probably some truth in what Wade said, as his uncle wouldn't be able to understand what it meant to be a mutate, and what if he reacted badly or wanted him to report to the authorities? It could probably wait, in any case, as it wasn't as though he would stop having these powers any time soon. He swallowed hard and looked to Wade, who seemed to know more about these things.

"I guess you're right," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

' _Well, they aren't there now.'_

' _That isn't my fault! I bought them, I swear!'_

 _Ben gave a long sigh and stared hard at his nephew. The young man was usually so responsible and respectful, but lately he broke curfew and got into trouble at school. It wasn't what Ben wanted from him; he swore that he would always protect Peter, just as he swore he would look after him like a son, and – over time – Peter meant more to him than he ever thought he would. He could_ see _the potential in him, but recently it felt like he was throwing that potential away. Peter could achieve so much in life!_

 _The eggs were just a small thing, but big things always started with the little ones. Peter stood there with such a petulant look upon his face, whilst a bruise stood out on his jaw, and Ben felt his heart break. There was a pack of peas defrosting on the kitchen table, but Peter refused to apply them to his face, and his shirt was the same one that he wore the day before, with a strange web pattern upon it. Ben didn't like how Wade brought him such gifts, because he wanted Peter to learn independence and to work for things he wanted, because 'value' was about earning the things precious to him, not taking them for granted._

' _Peter, you came home just ten minutes ago,' said Ben. 'If you bought eggs, they would still be in the fridge. Do you think they just go walking about? There will come a day when you need to fend for yourself, then forgetting the groceries will seem like a much bigger deal.'_

' _I told you, Uncle Ben. I didn't forget!' Peter dug his hands into his hair. 'I – I – I stopped by straight away from school! I took the board out for a while, got punched by Flash on the way back, and stopped by the library for some books! You can check my bag. We're studying arachnids in science class and -! I put them in the fridge the second I got in. If – if they aren't there then Aunt May must have used them or –'_

' _You think your aunt used a dozen eggs in ten minutes? Peter, I love you so much, which is why it hurts me to see you acting this way. I know, I know, all teenagers go through a rebellious phase, but if you would just_ talk _to us about what's going on, we could help you. I know you don't believe it, but we were young once. Is this about Wade and -?'_

' _You know what? Forget it. I'll go get some more.'_

' _At this time of night? No, you won't.'_

 _He folded his arms in an attempt to seem authoritative. It was so much easier when Peter was a child; he could give him time-outs, hold him firmly until he calmed down, or sometimes – when May wasn't looking – bribe him with books. No one prepared him for having a fifteen-year-old in his house that was taller than himself, and frankly he couldn't stop Peter even if he tried. This was why he tried to instil respect, because there would be people in Peter's life that he would need to listen to, and running away wasn't always an option._

' _The local shops are closed,' said Ben. 'I won't have you walking into the city. It's too dangerous. No, you can go to bed and tomorrow we'll just have to do without. Honestly, Peter, first you forget to meet your aunt after work, and then you forget -'_

' _Fine! I-I-I'm a screw-up! I'm a bad nephew, I get it!'_

' _Now, you know that's not what I'm saying at -'_

' _No, I'm done! I'm out of here!'_

* * *

 _Line Break  
_  
Peter stared at the store silently. _  
_

It might defuse the situation to actually buy the eggs, but – at the same time – he felt so angry lately and his uncle just wouldn't seem to give him breathing room. Storming out of the house hadn't solved anything, especially as he would have to go home eventually, and then it would only be so much worse. He didn't want his uncle thinking him ungrateful, especially as Ben was his role-model and his father-figure, but he just couldn't understand why he couldn't stay off his back for just a _few_ minutes. Peter needed time alone.

The night was so bitterly cold; the scarf around his neck did little to warm him, whilst he could see clouds of breath with every exhale, and he suddenly hated the city in a way that he never felt before. There was so much light that it hurt his eyes, but it was artificial and blocked out the stars and the moon, and the noise was overbearing to the point that he just wanted to shut it out somehow. The new powers left him more sensitive, but in a city of seven million people -? Even when he was alone, he didn't _feel_ alone. He raised his hands to his mouth to breathe some warmth, but it did absolutely nothing to help.

Right, well, he could at least make it up to his uncle. The older man didn't deserve to feel unappreciated or worse, and Peter realised he was at fault in the situation. He walked across the road to the 24-hour store, where he caught sight of a rather grizzled and melancholy looking clerk behind the counter, and it was hard not to regret being so impulsive. It just wasn't fair, because he _knew_ he bought the eggs, but -! Well, it didn't matter now.

He headed inside and shuffled to the refrigerated section.

There were plenty of darned eggs, at least. 

* * *

Line Break

' _What on earth happened here?'_

 _Ben followed May's gaze to the door. The glass panel was absolutely shattered beyond repair, so that the floor and porch were both covered in tiny shards, and he made a mental note to take the cost out of Peter's allowance. There wasn't much he could do at this time of night, so – for now – he swept up the mess and nailed a board of wood into the frame, which would at least deter thieves or trespassers. It sadly blocked out a lot of light._

' _Peter slammed the door shut,' he muttered._

' _Where does that boy get his strength?' May asked. 'Is he in his room?'_

' _No, he went out to get the eggs he forgot to get.'_

 _May gave him a stern look, as she stepped carefully across the threshold and tried to avoid the few stray piece of glass. He could see how tired she looked, which broke his heart when he knew how hard she worked, but there was very little he could do to help with the household income, aside from working himself and doing all he was already doing. He sometimes wished he could do more for his wife, but – as she looked at him awaiting an explanation – all he could say was a saddened:_

' _Well, how was I meant to stop him?'_

' _I don't know, but it's not safe for him to be out at this time,' said May in mild annoyance. 'The only sorts of people out, at this time of night, are people that would cause trouble or hurt Peter. I suppose I better go out and find him . . . it's only right.'_

' _Don't you dare,' replied Ben. 'It's too dangerous for a lady!'_

' _You're sweet, but one of us has to get him, Ben.'_

 _Ben gave a sigh, as he picked up his tools from the floor. There wasn't really any arguing with his wife, but he wasn't sure he really wanted to argue; Peter needed to be brought home and fetching him was the best possible solution. He cricked his back and gave a groan._

' _I suppose you're right. Better go get the boy.'_

' _Thank you,' said May._

* * *

 _Line Break_

"Just the eggs, thanks," said Peter.

The clerk gave him a dark look and raised an eyebrow. It was strange to be looked over, as if he were being assessed or judged, and – after a long while – the clerk gave a huff of what sounded like indignation and snatched the money from his hand. Peter was left feeling quite slightly, as well as embarrassed, and he hoped that his red cheeks didn't give away just how he felt to the clerk in front or the guy behind. He thought he heard a muttered 'jerk' from the waiting customer, but he simply huddled down and hoped the clerk didn't hear it.

He felt his change dropped noisily on the counter, before he counted it and ignored the clerk's cold order for him to hurry up. The man behind simply offered him help putting the eggs away, which he smiled at and shook his head, and then he found his attention caught by the milk just to the right of the counter. He couldn't remember the last time he had chocolate milk, but the temptation for something sweet was pretty strong. Just one wouldn't hurt.

"How much for the milk?"

"A dollar forty-two."

"Right, well, here you go then," said Peter.

He slid the change back across the counter, as he walked to the fridge to pick up one of the bottles of milk, before he came back around and saw the change was still on the tabletop. The clerk just gave a huff of frustration, as he leaned back and refused to touch any of the coins, which caused the guy behind him to utter a 'for fuck's sake' and stamp his foot impatiently, but the clerk simply flipped the guy off and waved his hand at Peter for him to move.

"You're a penny short," snapped the man. "You can't have it."

"Just a penny? Can't I take one from the tray –?"

"Nope. Not my problem. _Next please_!"

Peter let out a sigh of irritation. He slammed the milk down and took his change, whilst the clerk practically threw the eggs at him and began to serve the other man. It didn't take Peter long to slip the eggs into his satchel and the change into his pocket, but – no sooner did he turn around – did he see the other customer point a gun directly at the clerk's head. He felt his heart begin to race in panic. The sense of dread was overwhelming. There was a cold sweat over his body, he began to feel faint, and he was scared for his life . . .

The clerk was shoving handfuls of money into the thief's hands. He looked to Peter for support or some form of help, but Peter was frozen in fear. It was then that the thief let out a loud laugh, which stole Peter's attention, and he gave a sharp wink and threw the chocolate milk at him with a conspiratorial smile. Peter caught it and looked on in shock. The thief ran out the doors and left them alone standing in horror. He – he was safe, at least.

"Why didn't you help?"

Peter looked to the clerk, who was pale and dripped sweat from his forehead. He almost felt sorry for him, especially by the way his hands trembled, but all he could do was shrug and walk towards the doors. The police would be here soon enough, but there was no reason why he ought to remain. Frankly, the clerk was a complete jerk. He deserved to be robbed and he couldn't really fault the thief for scaring him like that, because he deserved it.

"Not my problem," said Peter.

* * *

Line Break

' _Don't tell me not to worry,' said May._

' _It'll be fine,' replied Ben, as he held the phone to his ear. 'I can't believe how cold it is out, though. I won't be happy if he's forgot to dress up for the weather, you know how easy he catches colds and things. He better be okay. It's so late.'_

' _No who's worrying?' May teased. 'You're right, he'll be fine.'_

' _Here's hoping,' he said, as he hung up._

* * *

 _Line Break_

Peter left the store to see the thief.

He looked to be running on ahead, although the streets were busy and crowded, which meant that he was sure to get caught at this rate. It was too dark to see properly, but eventually the thief seemed to come up against a person in the way. Peter rolled his eyes. It figured someone would try to be a hero, and no doubt they would get thrown to the floor in a second or two, before being shown all over the press as a 'hero of the hour'. He shook his head at it.

The thief stopped, almost as if he were expecting whomever he saw, and Peter found himself mildly curious as to whether this was an accomplice or some sort of mugging in action, and so he followed the street behind the thief for a closer look. He didn't want to get involved, especially as the guy was friendly enough and justified in the theft from before, but he couldn't stand by and watch some man or woman get mugged or assaulted. Peter gave a yawn and rolled his shoulders, before he made a quick pace forward.

It was then he saw a flash of metal. The person fell.

The thief ran.

 _Oh God,_ thought Peter. He felt a sickening feeling in his stomach, as he ran straight over to the fallen victim, finally seeing them for whom they were. There was a small crowd around them, whilst a young man rushed over and applied pressure to the wound. The thief was out of sight, but the blood -? It – it was everywhere . . . Peter never experienced so much blood before . . . it smelled metallic and like iron, whilst it pooled out at an alarming rate . . . he fell to his knees and felt it hot against his knees. There – there was a phone on the floor . . .

' _Hello? Hello?'_ The voice was frightened. _'What happened?'_

Peter picked it up with a shaking hand. He felt sick to his stomach, enough that he could taste the acid in the back of his throat, and he felt dizzy and nauseous and confused. Nothing was right. This – this was wrong. The tears built and he couldn't see. He couldn't see.

' _Hello? Answer me, sweetie, please! Just answer me! Hello!'_

"It – it's me, Uncle Ben," said Peter. "It's me."

' _Where is your aunt? Is she okay?'_

"N-no, she's . . . she's gone."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

Peter sat in complete silence.

He couldn't remember when he last spoke; he only knew that his eyes were sore and red, that his skin felt cold and clammy, and that his head felt dizzy and cloudy. The past week felt like a blur. There were some brief memories of his uncle checking on him, as well as scenes of people dressed in black and empty condolences, and everything felt like a succession of sensations rather than actual events. There was shock . . . denial . . . overwhelming depression . . . guilt . . . _fury ._ . . the fury was the hardest to deal with . . .

The house felt empty and cold. Every morning they spent together at breakfast -? It just wasn't the same. They could feel the absence of May so acutely, but what made it worse was the realisation that she _should_ have been there . . . there was no reason for her to die, none at all, and none of this was the least bit fair! There wasn't the smell of freshly baked bread each morning, just as there was no one to tell him off for breaking curfew, and there was no one to hug when he was sad, no one to laugh with about what MJ said, no one to turn to when the world felt so cold . . . there was still Ben, sure, but he was grieving, too.

"Come on, baby boy, say _something_."

Peter blinked slowly and looked up. Wade sat on the edge of his bed with a rather broken smile, and – in a strange way – he seemed nearly as broken up about May's death as Peter felt. He would mutter things about 'the wrong person' and 'who would ask for that' when he thought no one was listening, occasionally cursing and ranting under his breath, and sometimes it would make Peter smile to know that he wasn't alone. Not today.

"Petey," said Wade, "it'll be alright soon, I swear."

"No, it won't. It won't ever be alright."

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, as Peter leaned back his head upon the headboard with eyes clenched shut. The tears were hot and fast, enough that he felt his lips break into a shaky smile, and he tasted salt-water in his mouth, even as he let out a strangled laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Wade slowly shuffled over, almost as if scared of spooking him in some way, before he sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. It was impossible not to appreciate the gesture. Peter nuzzled against him.

"I – I'm fed up of just sitting here . . . doing _nothing_."

"What can you do? Police will find the guy! Your friend Stacey has that dad who's like – I don't know – Captain of Police or something, right? I bet he's hunting down the bastard that hurt Aunt May as we speak! The guy will be behind bars before you know it!"

"Right . . . so – so I just stay in my room? I just – I just let them chase him down and pretend like he's n-not out there . . . where he could hurt someone else . . . where he's laughing at the fact some wonderful woman is now cold in a grave? I – I have powers, Wade! I can _use_ them! I could hide my face . . . track him down . . . make _sure_ the police find him."

"No! No way, Jose! You could get hurt and that's way too risky!"

"So? You wanted me to be a superhero."

Wade gave a grimace that Peter couldn't miss; the older teenager rested his hand on Peter's arm, where he used his thumb to rub relaxing circular motions, and – for a moment – he thought that Wade was hiding something from him. He rested his head against Wade's shoulder, where he listened to his heavy breathing and felt the warmth through his sweater, and he tried to smile despite his pain. The only problem was that every smile . . . every laugh, every moment of small happiness . . . felt like he was betraying his aunt.

He drew in a deep breath, where he caught a scent of fast food and what seemed like tobacco, and he gave a pained laugh at the memory of how May wouldn't approve. May was always against intoxicating or addictive substances, which meant even alcohol was banned from the house, and a part of him began to miss the lectures and advice, because it was all borne from love . . . a love he would never experience again. He turned his body to drape his legs over Wade's lap, as he clenched hard onto his sweater for some way to ground himself, and he thought he felt Wade shudder when he accidentally brushed his lips against his neck.

"Yeah, that was back then . . ."

"What changed?" Peter asked quietly. "I – I _need_ to do something."

"Look, I'm glad your uncle is letting me visit you," said Wade. "Honestly! The thing is that May wasn't meant to die and I never expected him to be all like this; he promised me to watch out for you, to make sure you ain't ever hurt, and it's a promise I'll keep!"

"So I should just let the guy run free? I would be fine. I can stick to surfaces, I have fast reflexes, and I have a sixth-sense for danger . . . I – I've been – I've been working on a webbing fluid, too, based off an Oscorp formula. It's pretty good. I just _need_ to catch him, Wade! It's my fault she's dead. It's my fault! If I was just responsible enough to remember –"

Wade pulled him onto his lap, where Peter wrapped his arms tightly around his neck and buried his head into the crook, and suddenly the tears fell. There shouldn't be any left. It felt like every day was spent in a broken stupor, where the only thing to do was to cry or scream or stare absently at the ceiling, but still the tears flowed. Wade rubbed at his back; he eventually felt a hand slip under his shirt and rub at the bare skin. It felt intimate.

"You said you remembered the eggs," muttered Wade.

"I – I couldn't have done! My uncle was going to go out and get them, but we got into this whole argument and I stormed out and I -! If I was just more _mature_ , I would have apologised and gone to my room! No one would have chased after me!"

"Your uncle would have gone for the eggs, though, right? He still would have ran into a guy with a knife and a gun, and he would have died instead of your aunt."

"Yeah, but I could have stopped him when he held up the clerk!"

"You would have had a bullet to your brain, baby boy!"

Wade pulled Peter's head back with his free hand, so that Peter was able to look him in the eyes and see just how terrified Wade felt . . . terrified that he so could have easily have lost _him_ in the process of all this tragedy. There was a hard expression upon him. It was the first time that Peter ever remembered his best friend looking so afraid, even more so than the time he went into details about his past . . . about Mary, about Cable . . . he thought – for a naïve moment – that maybe Peter could mean more to Wade than any of them . . .

It was then Wade pulled him in for a kiss.

He felt stunned. It was hard to react or pull away, simply because this was the first real kiss he was ever given. There was something so enjoyable about it, as Wade moved his rough and chapped lips against him, and even the taste of Mexican food was oddly appreciated, as he felt the other's tongue move with his in turn. He felt nervous; he didn't want Wade to taste tears or kiss him out of pity, but – judging from the growing hardness beneath him – there had to be _something_ more than pity. Eventually Wade stopped and Peter pulled away.

It was hard not to pant, especially as he felt so impossibly red and distracted from his grief, and he raised a shaking hand to his lips to touch them in disbelief. The smirk on Wade's lips was pretty wide, as if this were everything he ever wanted from the start, and Peter – as he swallowed nervously – wondered what this could mean for them. Did – did Wade want to _date_ him? He was just some scrawny nerd, whilst Wade -?

"Just make me a promise," said Wade.

"P-promise?" Peter jerked from his thoughts. "Like -?"

"Like don't go chasing this guy just yet. They may catch him."

The way he said it with such certainty made him smile. There was something almost akin to closure at the idea May's death would be avenged somehow, but there was also something so claustrophobic in being told to stay in his room. It made him powerless to _do_ anything to directly make things right, and all he wanted was to do right by his aunt, especially now he would never see her again. If he caught her killer, he could honour her memory.

"Fine, I'll give it a week," he muttered.

"Good," said Wade. "Now . . . where's my goodnight kiss?"

Peter blushed and leaned in for another. 

* * *

*/*/*/ Line Break /*/*/* 

"Hey, morning, Peter," said Ben.

Peter yawned as he walked into the kitchen. It felt incredibly cold, but he realised that being dressed in simply Wade's hooded-top and a pair of shorts probably contributed to that, and so he sat down without complaint at the table. There was a selection of cereals on the top, as well as a stack of burned toast, and he felt a stab of pain at how he would never get to taste his aunt's homemade muffins ever again. He hoped – wherever her soul rested – she could finally find peace and looked down on them with fondness.

"Wade's clothes?" Ben asked. "Er, did you two . . . er . . .?"

"N-no! We – we just sat talking until late at night," said Peter with a blush. "He slipped out the front door around eleven. He even told you he was going. I – I guess you were asleep in front of the TV, so maybe you just didn't hear him go. We're . . . just dating."

"Oh, so you _are_ dating. That explains his top there."

"He left it by mistake, so I borrowed it . . ."

Ben raised an eyebrow, as he came and sat down with a hot mug of coffee. He seemed much older than his years, so that black bags rested under his eyes and his remaining hair looked greasy, and he was perhaps taking May's death worse than anyone. The coffee remained untouched, as steam came upwards and gave him a strange aura, and Peter smiled sadly and looked around for distraction, although there was nothing else to look at.

"Anyway, the police rang early morning," said Ben.

"Yeah, what for?" Peter reached for some black toast. "Everything okay?"

"Depends on how you define okay. Here you go, son."

The newspaper across the table was tossed over to him. He flipped it over curiously; when he saw the headline and blanched. There was a clear photograph of the man that stood up the convenience store, as well as killing Aunt May in the street, and the article seemed to outlay that he was dropped off outside a police station earlier in the night. Well, _parts_ of him were 'dropped off'. There was apparently a debate where some particular body parts were, whilst a message was painted in 'internal organs' next to the body.

It was a gruesome murder, which made him feel sick to his stomach. He dropped the toast in his hand to the floor, where he leaned backwards and tried to draw in deep breaths, but – in all honesty – he felt like he could faint at any moment. How could someone do such a thing? Yes, he wanted justice, but this wasn't justice. This was revenge. Peter loathed violence, but after reading that article . . . 'loathe' was too mild a word . . .

"Vigilante justice," said Ben with a sigh.

Peter shoved the paper back towards him. There was a sense of closure, but it was nothing compared to how heavy his heartbeat sounded in his ears, and he realised – with the inevitable bodily changes – he felt scared . . . there were some things worse than murderers and muggers, and they were clearly out there. It was no wonder that Wade didn't want him out there fighting crime, but -! Oh God, Wade said they would catch the guy, but did he know something like this would happen? Did Wade -? No, it was too cruel a thought.

"At least we know he can't hurt anyone else," said Ben.

"Y-yeah, I guess that's right," replied Peter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

"Aw, you both look so cute!"

Wade let out a loud laugh that reverberated through his chest; it was enough to make Peter blush wildly and bury his head into his pillow, although his boyfriend ignored his discomfort to wrap his arms around his waist and pull him flush against him. It was definitely a good thing that they decided to sleep under the covers that night, but it was still incredibly embarrassing to be found cuddled up with Wade in the early morning. MJ was chuckling behind her hand, as she closed the door gently behind her.

"Did my uncle let you up?" Peter asked.

"He sure did," teased MJ. "I came over to discuss plans for graduation, but Ben said you were up and ready, so I didn't think much about it. You know, I'm starting to think he lives to torment you, as no one else would be this mean to send me up. Still, morning!"

"Yeah, well, just don't tell him we were sharing a bed. He'll flip."

"I think that's because of what you do _in_ the bed."

It took him a moment to fumble around for a spare pillow. He aimed straight for her head, but she caught it and threw it back. Luckily, Wade swatted it away, before he returned to hugging Peter and placed soft kisses to his neck. The sheets fell to their waist, which caused him to panic and to try to pull the sheet back up, although MJ appeared not to notice and sat on the chair opposite the bed. He managed to wrench the sheets up to hide his chest, although a self-conscious part of him was almost certain that she could see the bruises on his neck.

MJ looked quite chipper for so early in the morning, but – luckily – it was a weekend and neither man was required to get up in a hurry. Wade gave a loud yawn, as he began to slow his breathing and seemingly begin to fall back to sleep, which left Peter to be the social one and make conversation . . . at least as 'social' as a person could be in bed. It was a good job that they were childhood friends and so very close, because he was certain that Harry or Gwen would probably have preferred to wait outside until he was dressed and downstairs. He noted that she looked rather pretty that morning, too, which perked his curiosity.

"You got a date later?" Peter asked.

"Well, nothing as strenuous as your dates," she teased. "There's a guy I've seen around, his name's Sam Alexander, and – well – he asked me out and I said yes. I have a few hours free, so I thought I'd stop by. You – er – _did_ ring to say you wanted to meet me, right?"

"Y-yeah, I wanted to talk about graduation, too, but there's more to it than that."

"Is this some secret thing?" Wade murmured. "Want me to leave?"

"No, it's not secret. Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too."

"Ah, good, because I didn't bring no underwear."

Peter tried his best not to wince. The truth was that he wanted to speak to them both separately, so as to vent his suspicions to MJ and gain reassurance from Wade, but – despite arranging for Wade to drop by later – he somehow still managed to 'accidentally' forget the time and spent the night. Surely, it was just another coincidence? The problem was that they just kept piling up, so that he almost began to suspect that something more was going on, but to suspect something more was to suspect _Wade_ and . . . well . . . he _needed_ Wade.

He needed someone that would always be there to talk. He needed someone that would hold him at night. Wade was with him through all the worst, as well as all the best, and he shared so many firsts with him that it was impossible to imagine life apart, and the idea that Wade could be the one to betray him or worse -? Peter felt his body tense. It was then that he felt his boyfriend place a soft kiss to his temple, before he traced light patterns on his forearm, and he began to relax at once. Wade lost people, too; he knew how it felt to lose May, just as he knew how it felt to be bullied, to be abused, to suffer as Peter suffered . . .

They seemed to be waiting for him to say something, especially MJ who looked between the two of them with a curious gaze and a raised eyebrow. He tried to communicate with his eyes at her, a mixture of an apology and a plea to come back later, and – thankfully – she knew him well enough to interpret his glances and gave an equally strange one back. Wade pushed himself up onto his elbow and looked somewhat confused, which made Peter blush in turn at their rudeness. It felt as bad as whispering.

"So what's up, baby boy?" Wade asked.

"Well, you guys heard that Gwen's leaving for England, right?" Peter asked in turn.

"Yeah, I was kind of heartbroken to hear it," admitted MJ. "Not that Wade seemed to mind; I think he said – and I quote – 'girl, if you have to cross an ocean to find friends, that should tell you something'. You could have been nicer, Wade. She won't be here long."

"Well, excuse me," said Wade with a laugh. "You mean to say that you mind it that she flirts with your man? I sure as hell mind! I won't claim to be all virginal or even a good guy, but I take my relationships seriously! I never cheated and I never would! Can you blame me for getting pissed when she hangs off Peter like a leech? Ha, you know she was all over Harry's dad, too? It's so gross! The girl needs to get some self-respect!"

"Hey, Harry's dad isn't that bad looking." MJ winked, whilst Wade winced. "Oh, like you can pull faces! I've seen you checking out guys in that same age-range. Anyway, Gwen has a good head on her shoulders; I know she'll focus on her college courses before she even _thinks_ about a guy, let alone one that's already taken. She fought hard for that scholarship."

"Yeah, takes a lot for a girl with a good head to give that much head."

"You _do_ know that's my best friend you're talking about?"

"I'm not saying anything the football team isn't."

Peter rolled his eyes and hit Wade with the pillow. The older man simply swatted it away and spat out his tongue, whilst Peter patted around for a dressing gown and slipped it on underneath the sheets. They could bicker and joke all they wanted, but the fact was that something was off about her scholarship. He climbed out of bed and fished around for his scattered clothing garments, as he dressed quickly underneath the gown, and – throughout the whole process – he could hear them laughing and shouting and all things in between.

He sat at on the windowsill, as he watched two of the most important people in his life. MJ was a childhood friend, one that was a positive influence on his life and a source of inspiration, and Wade came into his life by chance but stayed by fate, someone that was always there when he needed him most. That was part of the problem, because he began to wonder how Wade always seemed to know when he needed him.

"I just thought it odd, that's all," said Peter.

"Why? Gwen worked hard for her scholarship."

"Yeah, I – I'm not trying to put her down, it's just . . ." Peter ran a hand through his hair. "The last I heard it was down to a handful of finalists; I turned up at her interview to beg her not to leave, totally embarrassed her, and the other top-runner was a complete savant. Did she tell you how she got the scholarship? One finalist died in an accident, whilst the other backed down and said she had a better offer elsewhere. It just feels _weird_."

"Bad luck for them is good luck for her, I guess," said MJ. "I don't know what to say, Peter. I guess sometimes things just happen . . . I got the paid internship at the _Bugle_ , you got your degree at the local university, and Gwen got a scholarship abroad. People grow."

"Yes, but in my life? People seem to grow too much! How is it that the neighbour's dog dies _right after_ I complain about the noise? How come I've never so much as seen the new neighbour's face? How did we just happen to run out of eggs when I _know_ I bought some? How did my aunt's killer die just a _day_ after I wanted to hunt him down?"

"It's just coincidence, Peter. How can it be anything more?"

"Coincidence. Right. That's another thing . . ."

He tried not to look directly at Wade, but it was difficult. The other day he found an old shirt of Wade's, one that was covered in oil and worn the day they met, and Peter couldn't help but remember how his uncle's car stopped working that day, just as how his alarm refused to work amongst other things. It felt awful to suspect Wade, but the feelings built for a long time now and he _needed_ answers. Even if Wade just told him it was all in his head, he needed someone else to help put his mind at rest. He bit his lip nervously.

"MJ, can we talk later? I need to talk to Wade."

"Sure," she chirped. "Later?"

"Later."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six

 _Deadpool_. . .

Peter dropped onto the chair.

He felt numb inside. It was difficult to look at Wade; every time he looked up, it was as if he were seeing the world through a screen, as if this was somehow happening to someone else instead of himself. Peter scratched at his chest through his shirt, but he could barely feel the touch and it made him scratch harder. He needed to feel _something_. If he kept scratching, no doubt Wade would stop him to protect him, but how could he call it protection?

There was a terrible silence in the room, as Wade sat awkwardly on the bed. The sheet was draped over his lap to preserve some modesty, although – at any other moment – he probably would have forgone the sheet and made jokes instead, and he hunched over almost as if ashamed of his actions. That was what broke Peter completely. He didn't understand how Wade could systematically manipulate and control him, but only _now_ express anything akin to guilt. It was like he was more afraid of being caught than having hurt Peter.

"So that's how you manage to afford everything?"

Peter finally looked up. There were tears in his eyes that he couldn't help, but Wade saw them and tried to reach out to wipe them away. It was so tempting to almost let him, because there was no one else left in his life to comfort him, at least no one that he felt comfortable showing such emotion before, but _this_ was the person to make him cry. He felt . . . disgusted. It was almost like a joke that Wade could try to reassure him, because there would be no need to reassure anyone, not if he didn't do what he did. Peter pulled away coldly.

"Don't." Peter wiped away his tears. "Don't _touch_ me."

"Hey, what was I supposed to say?" Wade gave a sad smile. "You don't get it, baby boy! Nova and his gang are pretty cool, but you know what everyone else thinks about me? They all think I'm either mad or bad or both! Cable thought I was a fool, Logan thinks I'm just a little shit, Steve begrudgingly shows me some respect . . . I _like_ being Deadpool, because I get to be _me_ without people judging my face, but no one _likes_ him!

"It's hard to explain, Petey! I hate being judged, but I know it's my fault for not being myself around people, so what can I expect? I wear the mask to hide, but when I hide they all hate me, but they hate me without the mask, but -! See, even I don't get it! It just makes my head hurt! Then I saw you one day . . . it was back when we were teenagers. I was going through shit, but I saw you! You were laughing and happy and nice and -! I bumped into you, but you didn't flinch or anything, just said sorry and smiled! No one ever smiled at this before."

Peter let out a broken laugh, as he raised a shaking hand to hide his mouth. It really did start with just a chance encounter, but one that Peter couldn't even remember that happened, and it redefined their entire relationship. Their first meeting was essentially a lie. How could Peter resolve the fact that Wade was infatuated with him before he thought they even _met_? Not only that, but the person that Wade fell in love with was just an illusion, an ideal . . .

"Did you even love me?"

"What stupid question is that?" Wade asked. "Of course –"

"You don't fall in love with a _stranger_ ," said Peter. "I was just being polite, because that's what a basic human being _does_. Do – do you think courtesy is a come-on? H-how many other people have you engineered a 'chance' meeting with? My uncle's car, my alarm, my -!"

"I just wanted to meet you _properly_! It would have been weird to stop a stranger and ask him out for coffee or something, so I followed you home. Your uncle got the car fixed, you got a new alarm, and you soon dried up from the rain -! What's the big deal, right? It's a much cuter story to tell the grandkids than you apologising on some train!"

"You can't force people to fall in love . . . the very _foundation_ of our relationship is a lie, Wade! The first time we met . . . your real identity . . . it – it's all a lie. W-what would – what would you have done, if I rejected you? You kill people for money. Would you have killed me, too? Would you have just watched me from . . . across the road. _Shoot_!"

Peter collapsed backwards in his chair. The 'across the road' reminded him of how the house came up for sale, just as how he never saw the new neighbour, and suddenly a lot of how Wade just 'knew' things made sense. He felt violated. It was more than just his privacy, but everything about his life and expectations and even consent. Wade invaded his life, stole so much information without his knowledge, and destroyed the basic rights of others in the process, all so he could – what? – possess Peter.

"You killed our neighbour's dog!"

"Hey, that thing was killing itself on a diet of steak!" Wade objected. "Plus, who lets an old man live alone, anyway? He's better off with his kids. It also gives me a clear view right into your room, too! He left his telescope behind. Cool, right?"

The sickening feeling in Peter's stomach grew, so that he was forced to hold his hands before his mouth and draw in deep breaths, and – for the longest of moments – he felt afraid that he might be sick then and there. He felt his heart race painfully, whilst he began to hyperventilate, and then Wade stood up . . . suddenly – seeing him naked – felt overwhelming for all the wrong reasons. Peter was sure he might faint. This man was a virtual stranger to him, so no longer did he feel safe. Wade moved to touch him.

It was hard to bear. Peter acted out of instinct and pushed Wade back, until he landed back upon the bed, before he wrenched a pair of Wade's trousers from the floor and flung them at him. The older man quickly got the hint and dressed, which made him feel better slightly, as the barrier rid the feeling of intimacy and expectation. They were now just two men having a discussion, rather than a mercenary naked before a seventeen-year-old.

"You _kill_ people . . ."

"I don't kill the innocent," muttered Wade.

"W-what – what about – what about my aunt?"

The way Wade dragged up his trousers spoke of anger, especially as he snatched up items of clothing from the floor and pulled them on loudly, as he shot angry and betrayed looks over to Peter. It was enough to make Peter laugh again, as if Wade had _any_ reason to look betrayed in the least! He tried to wipe away his tears, especially because he could barely see and his eyes began to sting painfully, and he realised that he was beginning to feel anger. It was white-hot and a like a ball within his chest. He wanted to scream, but couldn't.

"That was an accident," muttered Wade.

"An accident? She was _stabbed_! She died! She -!"

"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Wade shrugged. "Your uncle didn't want us hanging out, said I was a bad influence, I figured – if you forgot the eggs again – he'd have to go out and get some! I paid some guy to take him out. Showed him a photo of him and May, but on the day she went out instead, so he took her out instead. If it makes you feel better, the eggs were off anyway. I ended up using them to egg Logan's place."

"You – you meant to kill my _uncle_? You were . . . going to let him die? It all makes sense; I wish it didn't, but it all makes sense! The way that Gwen just 'happened' to get the scholarship after flirting with me . . . the way the guy that killed Aunt May just 'happened' to get his comeuppance when I wanted payback . . . you've been controlling my life."

"It ain't like that! I just . . . worry about you! I wanted to keep you close! If anything gets in the way of us, it makes sense to get in the way of _it_ , right? You said yourself that you can't imagine life without you! I _know_ I can't imagine life without you! I love you!"

"You've been _killing_ people for me!"

A wave of guilt crashed over him. Peter wondered how many people died because of him, perhaps even people that he never even knew about. Did Wade kill anyone that insulted him or 'got in the way'? There was a cashier that once insulted him, not to mention a teacher that gave a bad grade, and even a commuter that once shoved him . . . did they all die, simply for hurting Peter in some way? He may as well have killed them himself.

It was enough to make him fall forward and drop his head between his legs, as he tried to draw in large and deep breaths. He felt soreness on his neck, as well as one between his legs, and he realised that he had been making love to his aunt's murderer . . . it brought bile to the back of his mouth, acidic and painful, as his stomach churned and groaned. It was unbearable. Wade simply stood slouched by the bedroom door, so that – even as Peter looked up with tearstained cheeks – he looked almost as if _he_ were the victim.

"You've been killing people . . ."

"So what? Life hasn't been easy, Petey. You shouldn't get so high and mighty! Some times it's more fun to laugh at the pain, to hurt those that hurt you times a thousand! There's no point in getting all weepy about bad things. You want good things? You got to take them."

"I thought I loved you. I thought you understood me . . ."

"Of course, I understand you totally!"

Peter stood to his feet, but fell almost at once. He could barely control his body, as every joint and muscle felt like jelly, and Wade caught him almost like someone concerned. It took every ounce of strength that Peter had to throw him off, after which he dropped to his knees and began to cry in earnest. He _loved_ Wade. He loved the man that was funny and goofy, that was intelligent and talented, and the man that spent the past three years as a part of his life. He loved the man that killed his aunt . . . that murdered people . . . he loved a killer.

"Yeah, you understand me," said Peter. "How else could you hurt me so deeply?"

He looked around the room, through his tears, before he dropped back onto his chair. There were mementos of their relationship everywhere: a ticket-stub pinned up from their first date, a photograph framed on the desk that MJ took, an old shirt of Wade's on the floor that Peter wore to bed, and even an old slice of pizza from the night before. They had what felt like a lifetime together, as well as what _should_ have been a lifetime together, but now it was over.

It was hard to accept, almost like an actual knife in his heart. He grasped at his chest, desperate to try and get rid of the pain, but it was strong and sharp and he _swore_ his heart literally skipped a beat, which caused a gasp of breath to escape him. The room spun around him, as he felt dizzy and faint, and nothing made sense any longer. He gave a broken smile as he wondered what he would tell his uncle, how he would be able to ask his aunt for forgiveness at her grave, and about how Wade once paid his respects there.

"You need to leave, Wade," he said.

Wade's face turned a deathly shade of white. It was almost heart breaking to look at, as a rather sick part of himself still _cared_ about Wade, and to see him hurt -? It only added to his guilt. He knew that Wade's happiness was not his responsibility, but he also knew how Wade suffered growing up and how traumatised he became as a result. Wade was still a human, but that made it more difficult . . . how could one human – _knowing_ suffering – hurt someone else like that? How could Wade kill them and hurt them and break them?

"You want some time alone?" Wade asked. "When do I come back?"

"You don't come back. We're finished. This is it."

"Sweetums, you can't mean that."

Peter pointed to the door with a shaking hand and said:

"Goodbye, Wade."


	8. Chapter 8

**Epilogue**

' _Don't do it, Wade. Please, don't!'_

' _I – I can't stop it, sweetums! I need you. I need you . . .'_

' _You – you don't – you don't need me . . . you need what you_ think _is me. I can't be with you, not any more. You killed my aunt, but that doesn't mean I still don't feel_ something _for you, Wade. Please don't do this . . . not now . . . put the gun down . . . don't shoot . . .'_

' _You don't care. You don't give a flying shit! You don't fucking care!'_

' _I care, Wade! I care! Just put the gun down! Put it down!'_

' _No. No, you can't tell me what to do! Not now . . .'_

' _Wade? Wade, no! Don't. Don't!'_

* * *

/*/*/*Line Break/*/*/*

"You don't _get_ it!"

Peter threw the phone across the room. The silence on the other end disturbed him; it was bad enough to hear the gunshot, but to hear nothing else afterwards was worse. He felt helpless and broken, whilst his heart raced too quickly to count the beats, and his chest physically hurt with how powerful it beat within his breast. He couldn't breathe. The air felt oppressive and heavy, almost impossibly humid, and just the effort of each breath made his eyes water, so that he was sure he would burst into tears at any moment. It was too much.

He looked across the kitchen to the smashed remnants of his phone, until he realised that he cut off the only contact Wade had with him. Oh God, he could be trying to ring right that moment and -! No, he could be _hurt_ right that moment . . . another death on Peter's conscience . . . more blood on his hands . . . the only reason that Wade would turn a gun on himself – pull the trigger and go so quiet – would be because Peter pushed him to the edge. If he stayed with Wade, maybe even got back with him when he made those threats, he might still be there and -! There was no guarantee he was gone, though, was there?

"Peter, you need to calm down," said Ben.

The older man tried to grab Peter by the upper arms, but Peter shoved him hard and stumbled backwards, until his back hit the wall and he began to hyperventilate. Ben looked on helplessly at him; it was hard to endure his gaze, especially as he didn't want to worry his uncle, but every second they waited was a second wasted! Wade didn't deserve to die alone. Wade didn't deserve to die at all . . . no one did! The kitchen seemed to spin around him, whilst his hands shook and began to grow numb, and soon his hands were closing of their own accord. He couldn't keep them open. He couldn't control his body.

Peter stumbled over to the kitchen door. The memories spent with Wade hit him hard, until he felt an immense guilt that he should feel anything at all, because what did it say about him that he could love a murderer and petty criminal? He tried to open the door. It – it wouldn't open. He couldn't get his hands to grip the handle! Everything was going wrong, whilst his uncle tried to touch him again, and – unaware of everything, consumed by panic – he spun around and pushed him again, until Ben was forced to raise his hands in surrender.

"I can't _freaking_ calm down!" Peter screamed.

"Peter, he's just trying to manipulate you," said Ben. "This is all this is, I promise. He's making you think that he's killed himself, just so you go rushing back and take him back. You're better than that. You need a girl like Gwen or a guy like Harry. Don't let him manipulate you. This -? This is _sick_. You don't make someone think you're going to kill yourself. You just don't. He _knows_ how much you've lost, too. It's just wrong."

"W-w-which is w-why he – he wouldn't – why he wouldn't joke about something like that, right? He – he wouldn't . . . he wouldn't play me like that . . . h-he – he's – he's got access to guns and I heard a gunshot and -! Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God! I – I – I just – I just -!"

"Peter, it's okay. Peter? _Peter._ We'll call the police to check in on –"

"I'm taking the car. I'm going to see him."

Peter desperately looked around, until he spotted the car keys on the table. He dove for them and grabbed them in his hands, as he fumbled and dropped them several times, and – as he struggled to get a grip – his uncle stood at some distance saying things he couldn't quite understand. It was as if the words went through his ears and stopped somewhere before his brain, and he could only shake his head over and over and over, as he sought some other explanation. If Wade wasn't manipulating him, didn't it mean -?

"You're not going anywhere in this state," said Ben firmly.

The look he gave his uncle was beyond cold. He froze where he stood, as he stared down Ben and tried to get him to back down, but Ben simply stood there and refused to move. There was no way that he would let his uncle stand in his way, not whilst there was a life at risk. It took all his strength to directly disobey, but there was no other choice, especially as he was taught about responsibility. It would be far from responsible to abandon Wade now.

"I'm going," said Peter.

* * *

/*/*/*/Line Break/*/*/* 

' _Beep . . . ha, fooled ya! This is the real beep!'_

'Pick up, Wade! Pick up! I – I'm in the car! I'm coming for you! D-don't do anything stupid, please! I'm about ten minutes away from your apartment! Shoot, do I need to call an ambulance? You haven't – haven't . . . oh God, just stay strong! Stay alive! Please . . .'

* * *

/*/*/*Line Break*/*/* 

There was a strange smell in Wade's apartment.

Peter covered his nose with his sleeve, as he fought his way inside. The floor was a complete mess; photos of their time together were everywhere, and it looked liked Wade took their break-up pretty hard. There were some bloody spots on the carpet, not to mention rotting food on the sides of the armchair, and there was even a small mouse by the window, which made Peter flinch back in disgust. Wade really let himself go lately.

"You – you weren't in your house, Wade," called Peter.

He tiptoed over the scattered contents of a Chinese. There appeared to be something crawling in it, which made Peter wretch in the back of his throat, and he stumbled forward until he almost fell. The apartment was completely silent. Peter thought he could hear a strange dripping sound from the bedroom, where the smell seemed to be at its worst, and it was clearly the smell of blood . . . a smell that reminded him of his aunt's death . . . he felt chilled to his core. He couldn't face another death. He couldn't do this again!

The room seemed to spin around him. He couldn't breathe, even as he inched closer to the bedroom door, and his hand – shaking and numb – wouldn't get a grip on the handle. It was as if every nerve of his body told him to run. Why did everyone die around him? He lost his parents, his aunt, and now his boyfriend . . . Wade's death was on his hands . . . if – if he just took him back or never broke up with him or just pretended to -!

"Wade? I'm – I'm coming in!"

He pulled open the door. He couldn't believe what he saw . . .

Wade – Wade was _dead_ . . . he was _dead_. The once handsome man was slouched against the headboard, with a gun in his limp hand and a phone by his side, and the wall behind him was a hideous shade of red and black and grey. There was no back to his head. There was just an open wound and the shards of skull, whilst his eyes were glassy and unfocussed, and there was already a fly or two buzzing around the wound. It smelled awful. The blood soaked the sheets, the wall, and his clothes . . . Peter nearly collapsed to his knees.

It wouldn't do to pass out now. What if – what if Wade could be saved? What if there was something he could do to help? Peter swallowed his fear away, as he forced his body to shuffle over to Wade's side and take his pulse. The blood was sticky against his fingertips, not quite warm and not quite cold, but the skin -? The skin was definitely cool. There was also no pulse, no breath, and no movement. He was gone.

Dead.

Peter let out an inhuman groan of agony, as he felt the tears spill over and the nausea rise, and – without warning – his stomach revolted and pain coursed through him. He ran straight for the kitchen, where he vomited into the sink over and over, until there was nothing left but clear bile and choked sobs. He heaved for breath, as he slid onto the floor and wept. This – this couldn't have happened . . . he couldn't be responsible for someone else's death . . . Wade may have been Deadpool, but he was also good to Peter . . . he loved Peter.

The air felt thick and heavy. He felt his head spin. It was then he looked up to see some medicine on the counter, along with an array of various needles and paraphernalia. Wade wasn't sick, but he also wasn't an addict . . . was this in case the gun failed? No, it may have been for his 'job' or a way to manage his pain or – or -! I-it didn't matter. Peter needed to stop the pain. He needed to feel better! He screamed loudly and felt the blood on his fingertips, where it stood red against his white skin, and he realised he would never forget Wade's death. He would never escape the guilt and the pain.

"Oh God! Oh God, I – I – I – I'm – I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I –"

He climbed to his feet and grabbed at the medicine. It was hard to think clearly, but he just needed to rest . . . the pain to stop . . . to just have a break from the guilt. The pills looked like pain pills or sleeping pills, but the label was blurred from the tears, and he just wanted to forget everything . . . to start afresh . . . he piled them into his hand and swallowed them dry. It – it didn't help. How long did they take to help? He swallowed some more. He swallowed until there was nothing left . . . until there was nothing left . . .

* * *

/*/*/*Line Break/*/*/* 

"Fuck, my head!"

Wade fell forward with a groan.

The pain was always pretty agonising when he first woke up, but – after a few years of several botched suicide attempts – he worked out morphine was a pretty good way to numb the residual pain from the gunshots. Yeah, the healing factor was good and all, but it was a real bitch when it came to long-term recovery. He felt like his head had been ran over by a steamroller. Wade gave a sigh and stripped the bed and himself, before he yawned and headed out into the living room . . . pancakes sounded like a great idea . . .

He strolled to the bathroom to wash away the excess blood, and then followed it up with several hours of television, before he remembered the hunger and the pain and decided to finally make some breakfast. The yawn he gave was loud and long. It took a lot of energy to regenerate limbs and organs, with the brain being one of the hardest to bring back, and frankly it clouded his memories and thoughts. He hoped everything would be okay now.

It was then he saw it: Peter.

Wade took a few shaky steps over to him, before he collapsed to his knees. There was the empty bottle of morphine next to Peter, as well as some aspirin, and the younger man was clearly dead . . . clearly gone . . . something inside Wade broke. He let out a deafening scream and pulled Peter against him, where he cradled him against his chest and wept. The tears soon became like blood, as he wept until he could weep no longer . . .

"I told you I'd always come back," cried Wade.

He laughed hysterical and kissed Peter.

"Why couldn't you trust me?"


End file.
